


Just A Matter of Time

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's wall has fallen and the world starts to crumble around Team Free Will. SPN 6.11 - Appointment in Samarra</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Matter of Time

**Author's Note:**

> My very first Supernatural fan fiction written in February, 2011. Transferring over from Livejournal to AO3.

Sam’s screams echoed inside his thoughts. Their memory threatened to break through his skull and shake him to the core. There was no escaping.

Every morning, Castiel left Bobby’s house to clear his head. And every time, it ended with the same results. No answers and no hope. In his reality, there was simply no way to help Sam. Still, in the comfort of the empty field, he knelt in the same place and said the same prayer to a Father that no longer heard.

“Please, Father. Help Sam. Ease Dean’s pain. I am uncertain how much longer they’ll last. Please. I’m desperate for your assistance and your guidance. Why won’t you speak to me..? Why have you abandoned me..?”

Castiel choked back his emotions and hardened his heart against them. Every day, as he pleaded with his absent Father, despair threatened to overtake him. He was no longer the stoic statue that the Winchesters knew. He had become more human than Castiel was willing to admit.

He glanced at the sky before standing up and turning his back on the empty field. Castiel walked along the path that led to Bobby’s house. The walk was a long one and just quiet enough for his thoughts to wander. 

Bobby…

Castiel sent a sigh from his lips. It had been several months since his passing. The evils of demons, witches, and vampires couldn’t kill him. But cancer surely did. The boys… As expected, they took his death incredibly hard. He had been like a father to them. Sam suffered the most. The younger brother had begun to ask questions, mental inquiries that chipped at Death’s wall. Why, God? Why, Bobby? With those questions, Sam had become engrossed in his own mind and eventually broke past the barrier. Now, he remained in the panic room, screaming in excruciating pain with memories of Hell. Memories that shouldn’t have ever been released.

Something had to be done. Castiel couldn’t pretend to hope while he and Dean researched cures that would never work. With each and every step, Castiel could feel his anger rise. Had Dean listened to him in the first place… The angel steeled his jaw and shook his head, rounding the path to the porch. Even before he had reached the first step, he could hear Sam’s screams. Was this their punishment then? His anguish? Had soulless Sam been so terrible? There was no escape. Not from this.

He could clearly hear Sam now. His cries were desperate, more so than yesterday. The slow-building anger burned inside his veins. Castiel’s ascent on the porch stairs were heavily pronounced, laden with his rage. With a scowl, he charged through the door and into the living room.

Dean stood next to the fireplace, his head lowered. His forehead rested on the mantle, eyes closed. If Castiel hadn’t known better, he would have assumed that the hunter was in prayer. But that wasn’t the case. Dean had abandoned God long ago. Particularly after Castiel had lost the civil war in Heaven.

“Dean...” the war-torn angel began.

The hunter didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge his existence.

“Dean…” he said more forcibly. It didn’t garner a response.

Sam’s scream pierced and echoed, slicing through Castiel’s skin like a razor. The angel’s quiet rage boiled over. “Sam’s condition is quickly deteriorating!”

Finally, Dean turned to look at him. His face was worn and tired, and his eyes red with tears. He hadn’t slept for days, hadn’t eaten. The hunter’s green eyes had grown dull with the loss of hope.

“I haven’t found a cure yet, Cas.” He said.

Castiel clenched his teeth. “There is no cure for his ailment, Dean!”

The hunter glared and turned to face him. His expression lit with angry tension. “Really? And what do you expect we do? Just kill him and be done with it? Is that your plan, Cas?”

By this time, Dean had begun to advance, gaining a step with each word. Castiel was visibly on edge, but the harshness in his tone never wavered. “You know what must be done.”

“No.” Dean growled.

The hunter was mere inches from Castiel now. The war-torn angel lowered his gaze, uncomfortable in the presence of such anger. If an altercation occurred, Castiel couldn’t hope to defeat the seasoned hunter. His powers were gone and he was simply useless, simply human. And Dean reminded him of that every chance he had.

“Dean—“

Castiel couldn’t move quickly enough. In a flurry, Dean withdrew his stainless steel .45 Colt and pressed the muzzle to the angel’s forehead. The intent in the hunter’s eyes truly frightened him. And it was the fear that finally dissolved the angel’s anger. But not his resolve. Castiel stared him down, expression stoic.

Dean’s anger didn’t disappear. Fueled by it, the hunter cocked the hammer on his gun, pressing it more firmly against Castiel’s head. The liquid-silver sheen on the Colt glinted angrily in the light. It reflected the hopelessness and the desperate rage in the hunter’s eyes. The angel couldn’t help but lock gazes either to defy his own fear and bravely face his death, or something else.

Dean’s hand began to shake, tears welling up in green eyes. He finally lowered the gun and said evenly, “Sam’s not going to die.”

Castiel nodded in agreement, quietly relieved to be out of immediate danger. The comfort of peace didn’t last long.

“Dean!”

Sam’s scream was blood-curdling. Dean was the first to react, running from the living room in a full sprint. Castiel lingered behind for a few seconds. He felt a sense of foreboding. And it was almost as if he could distinctly feel Sam grow continuously worse as the hours wore on. He found himself trailing after Dean, taking up a protective watch outside the panic room’s opened door. The brothers should have their privacy. It wasn’t his place to intervene. Yet Castiel couldn’t help but listen to them. Their words echoed and came to him easily.

“Dean. I can’t do this anymore. It’s—“ Sam cried out in pain.

“It’s going to be all right, Sammy.” Dean tried to soothe.

“No, no. It isn’t.” The tone in Sam’s voice was desperate.

“Sam. Listen to me. Just hang in there. We’re so close to finding you help.”

“Dean. I can’t do this anymore. You have to put an end—“ Sam screamed again. Another wave of anguish.

“You know I can’t do that, Sam. You know I can’t.”

“Please.”

Castiel looked into the room. Sam was lying on the floor, writhing in pain with Dean hovering over him. The scene was heart-breaking. The angel turned his gaze upward as if lifting a silent prayer. His thoughts were shattered with the sudden commotion inside.

“Sammy, no!” Dean cried out.

Castiel began to step into the room as the brothers played tug-of-war over the silver Colt. Sam had momentarily gained the upper hand and Dean tried to wrestle it away.

“Sammy!”

The angel didn’t make it half-way through the room before a shot rang out. The sound of it thundered against the iron of the panic room. His ears rang and hurt, but he moved quickly to them, kneeling beside Sam. 

“Sammy! Please, God, no..” Dean cried.

Castiel looked to Sam, to the red stain on his shirt. It was quickly spreading. Just by glancing at it, the angel could tell that the wound was grave. Castiel leaned forward to put pressure on it, as he was taught. He tried to help, but Dean wouldn’t have it and pushed him away hard. Castiel tumbled back, and slowly inched away, leaving them to themselves. Nothing else mattered to them in this moment but each other.

“Sammy. Stay with me.” Dean whispered, tears welling and spilling over.

“Dean… it’s better this way.”

“Don’t you dare say that to me.” Dean returned firmly, yet weakly. He cradled Sam, his face foreshadowing the onslaught of tears to come.

“Here. I kept this... for you.” Sam smiled weakly, handing an object to his brother.

Dean peered into his hand and… simply broke down. He tried to choke back his tears, failed, and let his shoulders drop into a sob. He tried to quickly recover and smile for the sake of Sam. It was a weak one at best. Dean finally opened his hand and held the object by its cord. The amulet… Dean’s amulet. The childhood gift from long ago. The necklace that Castiel tried to use to locate God.

“Why did you--?” Dean began.

“I couldn’t let you… throw it away.” Sam said too quietly.

Dean just smiled, held him close. He had obviously noticed Sam weakening. “Stay with me, Sammy…”

Castiel tore his eyes away, closed them. The angel had felt Sam’s passing. It hit him like a freight train.

Dean hugged his brother tightly, gaining no response. He looked at Sam’s face, put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and shook him a little. “Sam..?” Dean inhaled sharply, tears streaming down his face rapidly. Another shake.

“Sammy?” No response.

“Sam!” Dean said more desperately. By now, he knew. Sam was gone. And it was a revelation he couldn’t take. The hunter held his brother’s body so tightly, sobbing.

Castiel stared at Dean for a long time. There was nothing he could do. This death wasn’t like the others. There was no God to bring Sam back this time. No angel nor demon would help the Winchesters. It was over.

Dean hugged Sam for what seemed like hours, rocked him back and forth. He was in total shock. Castiel edged forward and placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezed it. “Dean..”

The hunter shrugged it off almost disgustedly. Like Castiel had been some sort of disease. The angel exhaled lightly and tried again. “Dean..”

Dean turned a hateful glare on him. “Get away from me. This is your fault, Cas.”  
Castiel narrowed his eyes. “My fault...” He clenched his teeth.

“If you hadn’t lost the war—“

“If I hadn’t lost the war?” he growled. “I warned you about this, Dean. I told you what his soul had felt like. I warned you that returning Sam’s soul was going to be catastrophic. You failed to listen. You brought this fate on yourself and your brother.”

Dean stared at him wide-eyed and launched himself at the angel. Castiel faced him head on. He was done with this, all of this. They collided expectedly and neither one gained over the other. The struggle for dominance ensued. Castiel’s vessel was considerably weaker than the seasoned hunter and grew tired easily. It allowed Dean the edge, the opportunity to overtake him. 

With the angel now straddled, Dean brandished the pistol again and tried bringing it in line. Castiel hit it aside with every ounce of strength he had. The hunter’s loose grip sent the weapon sailing across the panic room, stainless steel pistol thudding against the iron wall. But that didn’t stop him. Dean continued to vent his frustrations out on the angel, using his fists. Castiel covered his face with his arms and took every hit. The angel knew Dean needed to release all that energy and sacrificed himself willingly to the cause. As he always had. Whatever Dean needed, he received.

The beatings lasted little more than four fists to the shoulder and one in the ribs. Castiel laid there winded while Dean backed off. With no more anger left, with no more rage to shield himself, Dean broke down again. It took a moment for the angel to recover. But when he did, Castiel didn’t hesitate to embrace Dean, holding him tightly until he had no more tears left.

The next several days had gone by without incident. They had given Sam a hunter’s burial the night of his death. Castiel had kept a close eye on Dean the entire time. The angel was partly concerned, partly fascinated by death and the effect it had on loved ones left behind. He had witnessed Dean and Sam grieve over the loss of Bobby Singer. But it was different this time. The loss of Sam, by Castiel’s standard, was much more significant. Yet Dean continued his normal routine. He spent his time fine-tuning the Impala, reading old tomes, and researching. He almost left for a job, but thought better of it, and stayed home instead.

Even then, under the veil of normalcy, Castiel could sense something was wrong. He contemplated while he stood on the porch. The dark sky was sequined with bright stars, the air calm and soothing. At night, the angel could hear Dean’s anguish, could hear the cries for his brother. When Dean was alone, he broke down. Tonight was different. Castiel didn’t leave his own room to escape hearing Dean’s pain. Tonight, the hunter had been strangely quiet. When the angel checked on him, Dean was fast asleep wherein nights prior, the hunter stayed up all hours until morning.

Castiel looked to the sky, blue eyes clear yet heavy with sadness. His expression was one of pleading, and his deep voice cracked in prayer.  
“Father… why have you forsaken us? Why are we being punished?” He went silent as if listening for an answer. Nothing. “Please save Dean’s soul. He’s in so much pain.” Castiel exhaled, his heart aching. “Punish me instead.”

Just then… a shot rang out.

The angel’s eyes flew wide, only one name falling from his lips. “Dean.” His steps were immediate, up the porch and into the house. Dread filled his heart and pounded against his chest. His flight through the house was reckless, smacking his shoulder painfully into a wall. He didn’t care. The desperation to find Dean was at the forefront of his mind, nothing else mattered. He burst into the hunter’s room and then quickly shielded his eyes in shock. The angel stood there, weak in the knees, hands covering his face. He could smell the blood in the room, could feel the thick haze of despair about to devour him. Castiel tried to steady himself by breathing evenly, daring to open his eyes.

There, in the soft moonlight, Dean laid impossibly still. The silver of the pistol glimmered brilliantly, stained with blood. The hunter had taken his own life, unable to handle the death of his brother. Dean couldn’t face the future ahead without his Sammy.

Castiel moved forward after his moment of shock. He sat on the side of the bed, turning pained eyes to Dean’s lifeless face. Dean didn’t smile at him or open those green eyes. Castiel would even settle for a hateful glare for disturbing his sleep. But none of those came. He would never see those things again. Never again see the pride and joy Dean showed while working on the Impala. Never again would Castiel see Sam and his brother laugh with each other, or spend time together. Never again would he hear Dean say ‘Don’t ever change’. The angel steeled his jaw against his sadness and whispered into the night.

“You’re with Sammy now, Dean. I pray that you’re… happy.”

He could barely finish his words, choked them out before he broke down. Castiel lowered his head into his hands and released that well of emotion. The tears streamed down his face endlessly. He felt everything that embodied the human spirit. He felt the despair of loss, the heart ache of sadness. Dean had been his anchor in this world. Dean had been there when he lost the war in Heaven. Dean had accepted him for what as he was; both powerless and useless. For once, Castiel had felt a sense of belonging and hope. More importantly, he had a family. And now, he had nothing. He was lost and adrift in this world that was not his own. For the first time in a long while, Castiel was home sick. He missed his brothers and sisters, missed, if nothing else, the familiarity of Heaven.

The angel sat there for a long time and mourned his significant loss. And when he was finished, Castiel fled from that house and never looked back.

\------

Castiel had aimlessly wandered for days. He had nothing and wanted nothing. The sadness and loss of Dean threw him over the edge and consumed him. He wanted nothing more than to escape. He simply no longer cared.

The angel continued to walk along the dirt-covered road in some lightly-populated area. The fields were alive with the song of birds and the flight of insects. The sun burned above him. And the footsteps behind him became louder.

Castiel knew he had been followed for a long time now. Never once did the angel look back to see who it was—he didn’t care enough to. As the steps quickened, he kept his lazy pace and head lowered. Adrenaline poured into his veins and he felt the thud of his heart against his chest. He could hear his hidden assailant withdrawal the angel blade and palm it quietly. Castiel could sense the sudden rush of his assailant and knew the end of this tale.

The angel blade pierced through his back and into his heart. Castiel didn’t struggle nor did he fight back. He only wanted to join his family where ever they were—Dean, Sammy, and Bobby. Heaven or Hell, he didn’t care. He only wanted to see his friends smile and welcome him home. He wanted to spend an eternity with them. Castiel had nothing holding him here, was lost and useless without Dean. The angel wanted only to escape from the pain of this world. 

Castiel fell forward onto the dirt road, splayed out with his tan trench coat pooled around him. The angel could feel his life force fade away. His death should have been immediate. Without any of his grace, the angel blade was rendered useless and affected him like any normal blade would. Red fingers of blood stretched around him. As he faded, the ashen outline of his wings became more and more pronounced. And, as his sight began to blur, he turned his thoughts toward happier days.

He thought of the day that Dean trusted him enough to help him work on the Impala. The laughter they all shared... both Sam and Bobby were there, drinking beer… in the heat of the sun. They talked… while he and Dean worked. Dean had… stopped to turn on the… music. The day had been... a perfect one. And they were all... so... happy. Dean had... never looked so... at peace with the world. And he truly… hoped… that Heaven—


End file.
